I love the earth-bound poetry of Joseph Bruchac. He reminds me to keep my focus on what’s truly important in my life while the rest of the world is going mad.
The book of his poetry that has inspired so many of my recent Monday morning posts, Near the Mountains, is hard to find now. My autographed copy was signed in 1991, and its binding is a bit shaky.
As far as I can tell, the book’s publisher, White Pine Press, no longer has this book in print. But you can find copies through third parties on Amazon.
Bruchac is a very active author, and has published many books for children and novels for adults. I’ve heard him speak on Native American culture, and he is a treat.
A few last words from Mr. Bruchac here on this first Monday in March before we leave his magical book.
I’ve never understood the compulsion of some people to proclaim their spiritual beliefs. To my mind, discussing my spiritual beliefs makes as much sense as discussing my blood corpuscles or the ligaments that allow me to use the keyboard on which I write these words.
They are that much a part of me.
So I hope the next time I get dragged into one of those discussion, I remember this excerpt from Joseph Bruchac’s poem “Canticle” because it comes close to describing how I feel about those life and death matters.
By the way, this photograph was taken by my husband on Martha’s Vineyard.
I taught myself the rudiments of embroidery when I was ten years old from a kit I bought at a local store, and making anything by hand continues to be one of the great joy centers of my life.
It is a joy shared by millions upon millions of people around the world, a thirst unquenched by industry or technology. In fact, it seems to me that the need to use our hands to create grows exponentially in response to industry and technology.
Today’s poetical excerpt is for all you makers out there.
You know who you are.
You know how, sometimes, you get that little hit of bliss when you read something or hear something that just gobsmacks you between the eyes because it expresses just how you feel?
I got that gobsmacked feeling the first time I read this poem by Joseph Bruchac.
In addition to being a poet, Bruchac is a novelist who lives in the Adirondack Mountains.
This is my favorite poem—ever. I hope it will become yours as well.